


S15E5 "Proverbs 17:3" Coda

by WaywardAF67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s15e05 Proverbs 17:3, Feelings Realization, POV Sam Winchester, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 12:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21494644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardAF67/pseuds/WaywardAF67
Summary: Sam asks Dean what happened with Cas and learns a few things about his brother.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 19
Kudos: 153





	S15E5 "Proverbs 17:3" Coda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EllenOfOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/gifts).

“Sammy, you gotta quit keeping this shit from me, man.” Dean rested his beer on the table and slumped over, dropping his head into his hands. 

“I know, Dean. I just…” Sam paused, looking down at his battered shoes and huffed a humorless laugh. “I just hate when you look at me like that.”

Dean cocked his head to the side, brows knitting together. “Like what?”

“Like that.” Sam stopped rolling his beer between his palms and pointed to his older brother with the open bottle. “Like I’m some sort of puppy with brain damage.” 

Dean’s eyes softened as he forced a smile. “But you’ve got these puppy dog eyes, Sammy. You should see them, all wide and sad—” 

“Shut up, Jerk,” Sam said gulping down the rest of his piss warm beer. He waited for Dean’s reply, and when it didn’t come, he looked at his brother—really looked at him for the first time in weeks. There were dark circles under Dean’s eyes. Not his usual,  _ I don’t get enough sleep and worry too much  _ look. These were deep bruise looking bags that showed Sam his brother had been sleeping even less than he had. 

And Sam Winchester had not been sleeping.

Every time he dozed off, even for a few moments, another one of Chuck’s endings, or visions, or whatever the hell they were, played out in his dreams. The last time something like this happened, he thought it was God talking to him. What are the fucking chances that this time, it actually was God—the smarmy bearded bastard? He’d almost rather it be Lucifer again, at least they knew how to defeat him. Had  _ hope  _ that there was a way to stop him. But with Chuckhov’s Gun—the name makes as much sense as  _ the Equalizer _ —gone, what chance did they stand against God himself?

“Dean,” Sam said softly, knowing he was about to send his brother off screaming in the other direction. Whether it was in anger or sadness, was yet to be determined. 

Dean looked up at Sam, eyebrows raised in question, and shoulders tight as if he knew what was coming. Hell, he probably did. Dean knew more about Sam’s body language than he did his own. 

“Do you think Cas will call back?” It’s not what Sam wanted to ask. He had a million questions all revolving around Cas, but this was the one most likely to get Dean talking, at least for now. 

“I dunno, man. Doubt it.” Dean sat back in his chair, jaw clenched. But to Sam’s surprise, he at least stayed in his seat. 

It was late, and Sam wasn’t in the mood to walk on eggshells around his explosive brother. If they were going to fight about Cas, he wanted to get it done and over with. 

“What happened?” Sam asked. He wanted to say  _ What did you do? Why didn’t you beg him to stay? Why can’t you just give him a break once in a while?  _ But Sam learned a long time ago it was easier to take Dean’s side, even when Cas was right. 

“He just left. Said some shit about us having each other, and how it was time for him to move on. You know him, man, he can never stay put.” 

Sam wanted to scream at Dean, to yell at the top of his lungs that maybe Cas wouldn’t run off so damn much if Dean would stop pushing him away like some damned self-fulfilling prophecy. Didn’t they have enough of that in their lives? 

Sam did his best to keep his voice neutral, minding his shoulders and forcing them to relax, keeping himself open and hoping it helped ease Dean. 

“Did he say anything before he left?” 

“I just told you what he said, he doesn’t need us and fucking bailed like he always does.” Dean reared back as if he were going to climb out of his seat like some eighty-year-old man when Sam turned his  _ puppy dog eyes  _ on his big brother. He has been using this trick since he was six and Dean fell for it every time. 

“Dean, come on, dude, you know there’s more to it than that.” His voice was soft, supportive instead of accusing. Sam wanted to reach out and take his brother’s hand like he used to when he was a kid. He wanted to hug him and tell him that he was hurting too, that each time Cas left pissed off at Dean, Sam lost just as much. 

“What are you looking for here, Sam? You want me to say I fucked up? That I couldn’t stand being responsible for Mo—” Dean choked back his last word, still unable to mention Mary. “If I...” Another deep breath and Sam could visibly see Dean’s walls going up. His nostrils flared as he took in what Sam assumed was a grounding breath, steeling his nerves. 

Soft green eyes met his and Dean’s voice was lower than Sam expected, more resigned. “Sammy, if I admitted this was my fault, I couldn’t—” Dean’s eyes filled with tears. “How am I supposed to live with knowing I’m responsible for Mom’s death?” 

Sam was up and out of his seat before he realized what he was doing. Crouching in front of Dean, wanting to grab his brother and hold him until he understood this wasn’t his fault. Instead, he knelt there looking up and begging his brother to look back. 

When Dean refused to look up, Sam threw caution to the wind heaving a giant mental  _ fuck it.  _ He reached up and grabbed Dean’s face, forcing him to make eye contact. His quick movement had tears spilling out of Dean’s eyes, and Sam would swear on a stack of bibles that he felt Dean’s shame. 

“This is not your fault. It’s not Cas’ fault. Fuck, Dean, it’s not even Jack’s fault. He didn’t ask for this. You think he wanted to come back? If anyone’s to blame for Mom’s death, it’s me.”

Dean frowned, arms limp at his side while Sam still held his face tight between his giant paws. “Sam, no—”

“Yes, Dean. This one’s on me. I brought him back. I wanted to believe if th-that if I could just save Jack. If we could make sure the devil’s son was saved, then—”

Dean came alive then, pushing Sam’s hands away and standing up so fast it knocked Sam flat on his ass. “Don’t you dare. You’re nothing like him.”

“Aren’t I?” Sam said, not bothering to move. Dean loomed over him like the presence he’d always been. Big, overpowering, protective. He wanted to do the same. For once he wanted to save Dean the way his brother had spent his life saving him. 

Sam pushed up from the ground and stood tall next to his brother. Not the same looming presence Dean had been, but no longer small or inconsequential. 

“I wanted to save Jack the way you saved me. The way Cas saved you.” 

Maybe it was a low blow, but Dean needed to hear it. He was sick of his brother pushing away the only friend they had left. He wasn’t going to lose his best friend because Dean had complicated feelings. 

“He has always been there for us. You think you’re pissed off? What the fuck did Cas rebel for? Was it ever even his choice or did Chuck write it that way? He taught us what free will was.” Sam threw his arms wide gesturing as if the last eleven years could fit within that space. Dean walked past Sam, standing in front of the table, staring down at his clenched fists, Sam kept his back to his brother for a moment, giving Dean a moment to compose himself before turning around and continuing. 

“Until Cas, you were still just following Dad’s orders. And he lost Mom too, you know. Don’t think because she didn’t give birth to him that he didn’t love her just as much as we do.” Sam took a breath, trying to control his shaking. He didn’t mean to do this. He wanted to talk to Dean, problem solve with him, not give him a lecture on family.

Dean drew himself up as tall as he could and stepped right up to Sam’s face. “You don’t think I know that? That I have been able to think about anything else since he walked out that door? I can’t make him come back, Sam. Not when he doesn’t want to be here.”

“Are you that fucking stupid, Dean?” Sam asked, not fully thinking about the question. 

Dean shoved Sam so hard he stumbled back into the table. “Watch it,” he growled, fury burning through his dilated pupils. The muscles in his neck coiled and Sam knew he was one wrong word away from both of them walking away with busted knuckles and black eyes. Because once a fight started, he’s not sure either of them would be able to stop. 

Once again, Sam’s cooler head took control of the situation. He was aching for a fight, ready to just let loose and unleash, but that wasn’t Dean’s burden to bear. 

He took several slow deep breaths before standing back up, returning to his small slumped shoulders. 

“He would do anything for you. How can you not see that? I could spend the next hour listing all the times he’s chosen you over everyone else.”

“Us.”

“What?” Sam shook his head, squinting across the room where Dean had started pacing. 

“You could list all the times he’s chosen us, over everyone else.” Dean clarified looking defeated and what Sam couldn’t describe as anything other than sad. 

The space between them felt like a chasm, but Sam feared if he moved forward, Dean would strike like a coiled rattlesnake hidden in tall grass. 

“No, man. It’s you. It’s always been you. I always thought you were being intentionally obtuse. But you don’t see it do you?” 

“See what?” Dean stopped, wide eyes soaked in fear staring at him. 

Maybe he shouldn’t tell him. Maybe Dean did see it, and for whatever reason was hiding from it. Pretending he didn’t know because he somehow felt safer. But he wasn’t. When Cas was gone Dean was reckless. On his hunts, in his drinking, and Sam could only assume he was the same with his hookups. 

Sam perfected playing peacemaker amongst the Winchesters. Years of Dean’s and Dad’s tempers causing undue strain on the already burdensome car rides. He knew when to use his puppy dog eyes—like earlier—he knew when to lie, and he knew when the only option was the truth. 

“He’s in love with you, Dean,” Sam said softly. Not like he was pointing out the glaringly obvious fact that Cas had probably been in love with his brother since the day he walked in that barn. 

To hear Dean tell the story it was all cracking light bulbs and adrenaline, but to Sam, it always sounded romantic. Almost like those cheesy romance novels, he would never admit to loving. Guy walks in with literal sparks falling all around him, telling other guy he’s his savior. And Sam’s not into it, but objectively, Cas is hot. And Dean’s never admitted being bisexual, but he’s also never denied it. 

“What? You’re an idiot,” Dean said. It wasn’t Dean’s angry voice Sam was hearing, and this isn’t at all the way he thought it would go. 

“Come on man. The lingering touches, the hour-long stare offs. The profound bond you share. You really don’t see it?”

Sam expected Dean to yell at him, tell him he’s not into guys or angels in male meat-suits. That Cas was family and Sam was insane for thinking that he and Cas could be anything other than friends—brothers in arms. But as Dean bashfully looked down at his shoes, scraping his toe across the linoleum something occurred to Sam:

“Holy Shit! You love him too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to EllenOfOz, Lorelei2005, and Bek for helping me edit this.


End file.
